The Silver Cross
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: (man, I loved writing this little one-shot :D) Gally has always won the mock-fights that happen in the Glade. But what happens when he decides to challenge the one Keeper who hasn't fought yet?


The Silver Cross

Newt was just about sick of Gally's crap. But judging by the cheering, hollering group of boys in the middle of the Glade, the rest of his friends disagreed.

"C'mon, Gally! You can take him!"

"Yeah, don't be a wimp!"

"Ooh, I can tell that hurt!"

"Jesus, you're gonna kill him!"

"Take him down already!"

The excited shouts rose to a climax as Gally threw some poor sucker to the ground, decisively winning the match. It was his sixth win that night. Mock-fights were a common occurrence in the Glade, something entertaining to keep the boys busy in the evenings. They would gather around a circular patch of packed sand in the middle of the Glade, forming a big circle around the two fighters. They'd fight until one was thrown out of the circle or just couldn't fight anymore. Gally was notorious for his winning streak, beating anyone who dared to challenge him. And his constant bragging was getting more and more annoying. Everyone was just waiting for that one day when someone finally beat him.

That particular night, the fights were well under way. The sky had darkened to a deep purple color, and the stars were beginning to appear. A roaring fire had been lit and was crackling in the darkness, casting long shadows and lighting the backs of several Gladers clustered around the fighting ring. They were jostling each other, yelling for more challengers, egging Gally on. It was going straight to his head, of course. He strutted around the ring of kids, chin up, black hair flopping messily into his eyes. He raised his arms and a chorus of cheers and whoops rose up.

Newt was sitting cross-legged on the grass a couple feet away, beside the fire. Chuck was next to him, and Alby was on his other side. They were the only ones who didn't participate in the fights because 1. Chuck was twelve and didn't stand a chance in hell against Gally, and 2. Alby was too smart to waste his time with this crap, and 3. Newt thought the fights were utterly stupid and oh yeah, he had a freaking limp. So they were left out. Not that they cared too much though.

Alby shook his head. "All of this winning is going to turn Gally into such an ass," he remarked. His dark eyes glinted, reflecting pinpricks of light from the fire.

Newt scoffed. "He's already an ass," he replied flatly. "Now he's just gonna be a bigger one."

"Yeah," Alby agreed. "And I don't know what he's so happy about. So he beats everyone. Big freakin' deal. It won't do him any good against a Griever, if he ever sees one, and it certainly doesn't make him the leader around here."

"He's a bloody moron," Newt replied matter-of-factly. "A no-good, bragging, stupid moron."

"That may be the smartest thing you've ever said, Newt."

Chuck craned his neck to peer around Newt and join the conversation. "What're you guys talking about? Who's a moron?"

"Gally," Alby and Newt answered at the same time, both in equally irritated voices.

"Oh. Him." Chuck rolled his eyes, his brown curls falling over his forehead like springs. "Did you know he tried to tell me he might as well be the leader the other day?"

Alby huffed in exasperation. "Great," he deadpanned. "So the shank really does think he's all high and mighty now. Just great."

"He tried to order me around too," Chuck added. "Told me he'd punch my face in if I didn't listen." His brown eyes darkened. "I hate him."

Newt rested an elbow on his knee and propped his chin up on his hand. "Join the club," he said sarcastically.

Chuck cracked a half-smile. He drew himself up importantly and began to speak in an authoritative tone. "I now call this meeting of the I Hate Gally, aka Gigantic Mothershucking Ass, Club to order. Now, does anyone have plans for murdering said ass yet?"

He collapsed into childlike sniggers and Newt couldn't help but join in. Alby frowned at both of them. "Idiots," he muttered, just loud enough for them to hear. Newt nudged Alby with his elbow in reply, and Alby pushed him right back, with a smile on his face though. They looked like a gang of conspirators, snickering over their most recent crime. Their laughter didn't last long, however, because a new commotion had started over in the group of Gladers. They were all talking at the same time, apparently trying to find someone new to fight Gally.

"You think I could beat him?"

"Aw, shut up, Frypan, what're you gonna do, hit him over the the head with a pan?"

"Maybe we could get Ben over here again."

"Nah, he swore he wouldn't fight after last time."

"And I want someone new anyway."

"We should get a Keeper to fight again!"

"Half of them won't do it!"

"We can find one! Let's go!"

The crowd began to move, edging toward the Homestead in search of a Keeper willing to challenge Gally. Gally was right behind them, a smug smile on his face.

Alby's expression had lost all humor. "Oh no," he muttered under his breath. "This isn't good." He stood up, and Newt and Chuck followed.

Newt tipped his head to one side, puzzled. "What's the matter? Gally's fought Keepers before. Remember Zart?"

"Yeah, I remember," Alby replied darkly. "But they said they wanted someone new to fight Gally." He glanced sideways at Newt.

"So?" Newt shrugged.

"So, who's the only Keeper that refused to come to a single fight so far?"

Newt thought about that. And he figured it out. Damn.

"We might have a problem, guys," Chuck piped up. "Either he's gonna kill Gally, or Gally will beat him and then get murdered in his sleep tonight."

"Exactly," Alby agreed. "C'mon, let's go see what they're up to." He started toward the mass of boys, with Newt and Chuck right on his heels. They reached the very back of the group right when it started.

A redhead named Charlie glanced back at the teenagers behind him, green eyes glimmering with mischief. "You guys thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, an eager grin on his face.

"Oh yeah," Gally replied. He was cracking his knuckles in anticipation. Sand speckled his white T-shirt and left a dust on his hair. "I think it's time I took down the only Keeper who's been too scared to fight!"

A chorus of loud yells rose around him and they all began to pump their fists in the air, chanting the name of Gally's latest challenger as they marched for the Homestead. "MINHO! MINHO! MINHO! MINHO!"

Newt groaned and dragged a hand over his face. "This is not gonna be good."

"Let's just see what happens," Alby suggested. "Maybe Minho'll be in one of his...better moods tonight."

"You kidding me?" Newt asked. "He's bloody exhausted after running in the Maze all day. You think he'll be in the mood to come out here and fight Gally?"

"Maybe," Alby replied, though he didn't sound too hopeful. "I dunno. It might not be that bad. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? Minho's gonna plow right over Gally anyway."

Chuck rubbed his palms together. "I can't wait."

They trailed after the crowd as they made their way across the clearing to the front of the Homestead. The chanting intensified as they neared the structure, and when they were only a few feet away, a figure stepped out the front door. It was a tall kid with short chestnut hair and hazel eyes; Brian was his name, and he was one of the Runners. His brow was furrowed with something like dread when he saw the excited mob in front of him. "Um, guys?" he called, raising his voice to be heard. "I'd, uh...shut up if I were you. He's not in a good mood right now."

"Told you," Newt whispered to Alby, who promptly shut him up with a scowl.

"When is he ever in a good mood?" Charlie asked pointedly. A buzz of agreement followed his words.

"Yeah," Gally added with a sneer. "I think he's scared."

Brian held up his hands, palms out, in a conciliatory gesture. "I wouldn't say that to his face, Gally," he advised. "And I really don't think you guys should be making all this racket. He just got out of the Maze, after all."

Gally raised an eyebrow and quickly started up the chant again while Brian looked on in frustration. "MINHO! MINHO! MINHO! MINHO—"

They didn't get any farther because suddenly, a chair flew out the open doorway of the Homestead, narrowly missing Brian, and smashed into pieces on the ground. This effectively shut everyone up and turned their attention to the boy now storming out the door. He had carelessly spiked ebony hair, broad shoulders, and Newt recognized him instantly. His heartbeat stuttered at the sight of the Keeper of the Runners (who also happened to be his boyfriend and, as a side note, was kinda hot).

Minho stomped right up to Gally, who was at the front of the mob, and pointed a finger at his face. "You shanks better have a damn good reason for waking me up," he snapped, obsidian eyes sparking. Minho had a short temper, and if you woke him up in the middle of the night, it generally meant you had a death wish.

Gally was unflinching. He folded his arms slowly across his chest. "We were only wondering if you were up for a little match," he replied loftily. "You against me."

"Are you freakin' serious?" Minho demanded.

"Dead serious." Gally had the guts to smirk daringly at Minho.

"I'd rather hook up with a Griever and then propose to it than roll around on a pile of sand with you," Minho retorted, sarcasm dripping off of his words. He whirled around and walked back toward the Homestead.

"Oh, so you're a coward then?" Gally taunted boldly.

A hush fell over everyone. Newt and Chuck exchanged worried glances.

Minho turned back and glowered at Gally with enough venom to kill small children. "What did you call me?" he asked, voice low.

"A coward," Gally answered. He threw the insult out with an ugly grin.

Minho didn't move for a moment. Then he growled in resignation and started to take off this navy jacket. "Fine," he bit out. "You wanna fight, Gally? Let's fight then." The whoops and cries of the mob burst into the night again as they all surged back toward the fighting ring. Minho threw his jacket on the ground and followed, now wearing a tank top that showed off the powerful muscles in his arms and chest. A calmness had settled over him, tense as a coiled snake. He was going to get this over with, fast.

Newt, Alby, and Chuck dropped back beside Minho. "You sure you can beat him, Minho?" Alby asked. He spoke so that the other Gladers wouldn't overhear. "I mean, you woke up two seconds ago."

"I could take this shank in my sleep," Minho replied hotly. "And then I'd wake up and beat his sorry ass all over again."

Chuck gave a snort of laughter, silenced by Alby's warning scowl. The dusky-skinned boy turned back to Minho. "Okay, maybe you're right," he conceded. "But what if you're wrong? What if Gally fights dirty? You know he will, if he thinks he's gonna lose."

"Alby," Minho said, halting to make the others stop too, "if he fights dirty, guess what? I'll fight dirty. Problem solved." He shot a heated glance toward where Gally was riling up the guys over by the fire. "I'm gonna make him wish he'd never called me a coward."

Alby waved a hand, brushing off the whole argument. "All right, whatever you say. Just don't break any of his legs. We need him to work tomorrow." He and Chuck left then; Chuck was decidedly more excited than Alby.

Newt stared at Minho (or more precisely, every inch of olive-toned skin that Minho's tank top showed) and then blushed and tried to pretend he wasn't staring. Minho reached up and pulled something from around his neck: a thin chain with a delicate silver cross. "Here, hold this for me," he said, looping it around Newt's neck, then pulling the other boy into a brief kiss. Newt's whole body came alive, but the kiss was painfully short, leaving him breathless and disappointed. Minho was grinning when he pulled back. "Sorry, love," he murmured. "I gotta go beat the shit out of Gally. But I'm coming back for that necklace. And for something else, from you." He flashed a crooked, sexy smirk and was gone.

Newt wondered if it was possible to remain calm through this entire fight, now that he knew that Minho was his afterwards.

When Newt joined the circle of Gladers around the ring, squeezed between Alby and Chuck, Gally and Minho were facing each other. Gally was leering maliciously, sunk into a stance, ready to charge. Minho stood lazily, eyes hooded. There was a shivering feeling in the air, the feeling of a match about to begin. It slithered into Newt's veins, despite his misgivings about this whole thing, and he felt a flare of eagerness in his chest. Then Gally sprinted straight at Minho. His shoulder was down, aiming to ram into Minho's stomach, and flip the Keeper over his back, sending his face into the ground. It was a move he'd used many times before. A look of triumph was already etched onto his face.

Minho sidestepped him.

It was lightning-fast. One minute, Minho was standing and Gally was charging. The next, Minho was still standing and Gally was in a heap on the ground. He spluttered, spitting out sand, and scrambled clumsily to his feet. He spun and gazed at Minho in shocked anger. A few insults directed at Gally were tossed from the crowd. Gritting his teeth, he ran for Minho again. And again, Minho stepped quickly to one side and Gally tripped over his own feet and crashed. It was becoming comical, really.

Gally hurriedly stood up again, breathing hard. Minho arched an eyebrow at him. "You done yet?" he asked, bored.

Gally's expression darkened. He raced at Minho and swung his fist at the Keeper's head. Minho ducked, Gally missed, and the crowd whooped. Now Gally was mad. He was losing his support. He advanced on Minho, lashing out left and right in a quick volley of strikes. Minho effortlessly dodged each one, backing up as he did. Gally grew frantic and hasty. He was swinging like crazy, striding forward blindly. Minho ducked under one last swing, then slipped to the side and stuck his foot out. Gally tripped over it and sprawled out on the sand. More jeers erupted.

Chuck was beaming broadly. "This is awesome," he remarked, elbowing Newt's side. "Minho's hardly even trying."

"He doesn't have to try," Newt pointed out, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "He's up against Gally, remember?"

Gally was absolutely livid. Here he was, being humiliated in front of his supporters. His face was flushed as he strode toward Minho again, chest heaving. With a cry of rage, he attacked, fists flying at the other boy's face. Minho was once again avoiding every single one. This was too easy to him. He'd spent months training as the lead Runner. Gally was nothing compared to the Maze.

Then it happened. It might've been because Gally was getting desperate, or Minho was growing tired, but either way, Gally shot a fist out and Minho didn't move fast enough.

There was a loud thud and Minho's head jerked to the side.

Everyone fell silent. Gally was bouncing from foot to foot, building his confidence again. A victorious grin twisted his lips. Minho was still for a second. A mark marred his cheek where Gally had hit him. Then he slowly turned toward his opponent and smirked wickedly. "You're dead," he said icily, and he strode toward Gally with his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Gally paled. He lashed out again. Minho ducked, then smashed his fist into Gally's side. "Agh," Gally gasped, doubling over. Minho straightened up then. He wouldn't attack the other teen while he was down.

That was a mistake.

Gally dove for Minho's waist, tackling him to the ground.

"Oh shit," Chuck whispered. Newt's blood froze.

The mob exploded into shouts and yells as Gally narrowly avoided a strike to his head and straddled Minho's waist. Through sheer force, he used his knees to pin the Keeper's arms at his sides. Minho clenched his jaw, and struggled, but he couldn't free himself. Then Gally sat up and proceeded to beat the hell out of Minho. With his arms useless, Minho had to take every punch. And Gally was getting revenge now, so the hits were ten times harder. At one point, Minho's head snapped to one side and he spit out blood. His lip had split open.

Suddenly, Minho arched his back violently, throwing Gally's weight off long enough to get an arm free. He punched Gally hard enough to send the other boy backwards, yelping in pain. Blood trickled from Gally's nose. He glowered as Minho stood up again, trembling with rage and adrenaline. It was looking like the fight could go either way. Then Gally's eyes flicked to the crowd, to Chuck and Newt, and he smiled evilly.

"So," he began, panting raggedly. He wiped the crimson from his face. "You think you're gonna win, huh? Think you're some big-shot, because you're Keeper of the Runners?"

"No, I think I'm gonna win because you suck," Minho replied seriously.

Gally was taking slow steps forward, drawing nearer to where Chuck and Newt stood. Newt shifted nervously. He didn't like this. "Yeah, I suck," Gally said sarcastically. "Just keep saying that, Minho. If this were a real fight, you wouldn't stand a chance."

Minho's mouth quirked in the suggestion of a smile. "A real fight?" he asked doubtfully. "If this were a real fight, you'd be dead right now."

Gally's jaw tightened. "I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back," he shot back.

"I'd like to see you try."

"I bet you would."

"You done talking, or are you stalling, shank?"

"Don't call me a shank, Minho," Gally said vehemently. His body was as taut as a bowstring, anger boiling up inside him.

Minho couldn't resist. "Then next time, don't call me a coward, shank," he flashed back.

Gally's eyes blazed. He took a step forward. And he drove his heel straight into Newt's bad leg.

The Gladers cried out in astonishment, Chuck gaped in horror, and fiery pain lanced up Newt's leg. It was unbelievably horrible, almost worse than when he broke it so long ago. He cried out and dropped to his knees and then his side, clutching his shin. "Dammit, Gally!" he hissed, which only made Gally crush his ankle under his foot again. The agony doubled and Newt let out a sound like that of a wounded animal, an awful, pathetic whimper.

Minho snarled and was on Gally in two seconds flat. He crushed Gally's face with several hard blows, sending the other boy staggering back. Then he literally threw Gally to the ground and started to punch the guy senseless. Gally's winning streak was officially over. The Gladers rushed forward, some to help Newt and others to pull Minho off of Gally before he killed him. Newt groaned as Alby and Chuck helped him up, along with several others. The pain was subsiding to a throbbing in his ankle, but it was still difficult to stand. He couldn't believe that Gally had done this to him, just to win a stupid match.

He really is a mothershucking ass, he thought through the haze of pain.

-o-o-o-

Later that night, while the others were either fast asleep or dozing by the fire, Newt sat up against a tree in a secluded part of the Glade. He could see out to the clearing, but the few out there couldn't see him. He was rubbing his throbbing ankle and cursing Gally for being such a stupid idiot, trying to win a fight like that. There had to be something wrong with that guy. Newt hated him. But at least, the winning streak was broken. Maybe Gally wouldn't brag as much and everyone could get a rest from his constant, annoying arrogance.

Newt sighed and leaned back against the tree again. The night air was cool, but comfortable and the stars peeked through the canopy overhead like a thousand diamonds. He couldn't see the moon from where he sat and he wondered if it would be full tonight. The others were taking advantage of such a nice night and they were outside by the fire, joking and talking. Others were asleep in the Homestead (including Gally, who looked like crap now). Newt considered heading in to join them when a stick snapped to his right and suddenly, someone stuck a finger in his ear. "Bloody hell!" he yelped, scrambling to his feet and away from a snickering Minho.

The lead Runner grinned gleefully. "Oh, sorry, Newt," he apologized, not sounding sorry at all. "Did I scare you?"

"Shut your mouth," Newt snapped in reply, rubbing at his ear. "What was that for?"

"I just like to mess with you." Minho shrugged. He'd put his jacket back on after the fight, but left it unzipped. He didn't look too beat-up, except for a small bruise on his cheek and his split lip. He nodded toward Newt's leg. "Still hurt?"

"Not really," Newt replied, testing his weight on his bad leg again.

Minho crossed his arms. "Good."

"Gally's still a shuck-face though."

"Of course he is." Minho smirked then. "Alby yelled at me for almost killing him. It was hilarious." He stretched lazily, tank top inching up to reveal a strip of bare skin. "Not that I really cared. I loved giving Gally what he deserved. About time someone did."

Newt cocked his head. "If you like fighting so much, why didn't you ever fight before?" he asked.

"Because it's a waste of time," Minho replied easily. "And I don't exactly feel like punching someone after running from Grievers all day long. Anyway, everyone here knows I'd beat them, so what's the point of proving it?"

"You couldn't beat me," Newt decided, a half-smile of mischief on his face.

Minho's dark eyes flickered. "You think so, huh?"

"I know so."

"I see." Minho nodded, as though he was taking this in. Then, quicker than a blink, he rushed at Newt and pinned him against a tree. Hands on either side of Newt's head, he leaned in close. "You can't still think you could beat me," he said devilishly.

"Watch me." Newt hooked a leg around Minho's and wrenched it out from under him. When Minho staggered, he shoved the other boy to the ground and straddled him like Gally had done. Blonde hair flopped down into his eyes as he showed Minho a smirk of his own. "Give in?"

"Never," Minho shot back. He deftly flipped them over, hands pressing Newt's wrists against the ground. Newt tried to escape, but Minho was too strong. "I win," Minho smiled, before bending to press his mouth to Newt's. Newt kissed him back, electricity dancing down his spine. Then he teasingly bit Minho's upper lip. Minho gasped and his hold on Newt weakened. Newt freed his arms and pushed Minho back, then stood and grabbed the front of Minho's shirt; he backed him up against the tree, triumph written across his features.

"Looks like I win," Newt said lightly, his face inches from Minho's

The look on Minho's face was priceless. "You cheated."

"Did not."

"Yes you did."

"You kissed me first."

"So?"

"So, shut up, Minho," Newt laughed, and he kissed Minho again. It was slow and soft, and his thoughts became a foggy mess. Minho kissed him back, angling his head, and making Newt's mind reel. Without thinking, he ran his tongue along Minho's bottom lip and tasted a faint tang of blood.

"Damn," Minho hissed suddenly, pulling back. Frustrated, he raised a hand to his split lip. "That hurt."

"Sorry," Newt muttered, ducking his head to kiss Minho's neck instead, just beneath his jaw. The taste of his skin made Newt delirious. He continued to kiss down Minho's throat, letting his teeth graze against skin. His hands were moving on their own, pushing Minho's jacket off his shoulders.

"Newt..." Minho tipped his head to give Newt more access to his neck, and dropped his jacket to the ground. He closed his hands over Newt's hips and pulled them flush against each other. Nearly drunk, Newt reached a sensitive place near the center of Minho's neck and teased it with his teeth. Minho growled, and the sound sent shivers down Newt's spine. He felt hands pressing against his T-shirt, gliding up his back and leaving flames in their wake. He slipped his fingers underneath Minho's shirt and slid them up the Keeper's torso. Hard, defined muscle rippled under his touch and he gasped slightly at the sensation, hiding it by sinking his teeth gently into the curve of Minho's neck. Minho arched deliciously, a low groan escaping him.

"Dammit, Newt," he breathed. "I—" He broke off as Newt dropped his hands from his chest, slinging his fingers on the waistband of Minho's jeans. "Shuck it," Minho muttered, and he started to pull his shirt off.

A burst of laughter made them pause. The other Gladers by the fire had laughed at something Chuck had said, and despite the late hour, they seemed to be wide awake now. Newt drew back, but let his fingertips hang on Minho's belt loops. Minho had paused with his shirt halfway up his chest, and his wonderfully sculpted abs looked incredibly touchable to Newt. "Think they heard us?" he asked, taking a step back to give Minho space.

"No," Minho answered, huffing a resigned breath and tugging his shirt back down. "If they did, Chuck would be over here, and he wouldn't let us hear the end of it."

"You might be right about that, yeah."

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right." Minho grinned, then stepped forward; he tipped Newt's chin up with two fingers and kissed him, slowly. Newt made a soft sound in his throat and kissed him back. Minho broke it after a minute and touched their foreheads together. He glanced down at something on Newt's neck. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot," he murmured, lips curving in amusement. He reached up and fingered the silver cross glinting at Newt's throat.

Newt had completely forgotten about giving the necklace back. "Oh, sorry." He started to take it off.

"Keep it," Minho decided, making Newt paused and stare at him. The Keeper's gaze was soft for a moment. Then his signature smirk tugged at his mouth. "Something to remind you of me," he explained, "while I'm out being a Runner and all that crap." He winked, making Newt's heart stop. "I love you," he added, almost as an afterthought, but there was emotion in his eyes and a slight blush in his face.

It was the simplest thing Minho had ever said, and the sweetest. Newt closed his eyes in the growing night. The weight of the cross settled against his chest. "I love you, too."


End file.
